Cal Lightman - Dancing Queen
by horthbynorthwest
Summary: Cal catches Em watching Tom Hiddleston dancing and it sets some cogs turning in that brain of his.


A/N based on this video of Hiddles dancing watch?v=Y1NS97_lHi8

Enjoy!

Cal Lightman, Dancing Queen.

It was late in the Lightman house, quiet and still. The only noise came from Cal's fingers that attacked the keyboard on his laptop and the occasional click of ice against his glass as he swilled his scotch, as he tried to re-work the newest paragraph of his book. He sighed heavily, dragged his hands over his face and knocked his drink back. He pushed himself away from the kitchen table and walked through the darkness to finally drag his ass to bed.

His jeans and socks scuffed along the floor as he wandered up the stairs, expecting Emily to already be asleep, therefore hoping to stick his head in to watch his baby girl safe and relaxed in sleep. However, as he stopped outside her door, he heard a beautifully, lyrical laugh erupt from within. Curious, he knocked and opened the door to find his daughter swooning on her bed. It wasn't until Em rolled over onto her back, her head hanging off the edge of the bed, did she notice her father staring at her like she had two heads.

"What the bloody hell was that about, Em?" waving his hand vaguely at her body being half off the bed.

She didn't answer straight away, but blushed slightly.

"Is it a boy?" Cal asked, internally groaning as she shifted her gaze, "it's a boy. Well, who am I going to have to put up with this time?"

Once again, Em didn't answer, but seemingly having recovered some of her confidence, swung the laptop round and pressed play.

The screen showed a very suave, slim man, in a suit, dancing. Cal's relief, that this wasn't a real boy that had entered Em's life, was almost instantly destroyed when the gawky man stopped clicking and moving his arms a little bit and started rolling his hips. It was obscene. It was down right dirty. Everything from the precise movements of his hips in time with the music, to the dirty and knowing look in his eyes, straight down the camera. And his little girl, _his_ _Emily_, had practically melted watching it. His jaw dropped open. He stuttered trying to find the words, unsure of what to say, or which emotion he should address first.

Having completely recovered from the shock, Emily giggled at her father's flabbergast expression. "Well, you did ask."

"Are you tryin' to kill your old man?"

"Having trouble dealing with the fact that your daughter's growing up?"

"Yeah, luv… and I don't see the appeal of a lanky man in a suit, thought I raised you betta than that."

"Dad, Tom Hiddleston dancing is really hot."

Cal sort of huffed, hardly convinced.

"No, you don't get it. Dancing well, in a suit, is very good thing. I bet even Gillian has watched this!"

"Ha, ha. I very much doubt that, Fosta has much betta taste than that! She wouldn't fall for a smarmy bloke in a suit who has a basic sense of rhythm!"

"You keep telling yourself that, Dad!" Em grinned at how much her dad was squirming, "Now, shoo. It's late, you need your beauty sleep."

Cal tried to look indignant, but ended up just smiling, and kissing his daughter on the top of her head.

"Night, Em, love you."

"Love you too"

* * *

Cal lay in bed, restless. There was clearly something about this Tom Hiddleston guy that had Emily worked up, and he couldn't believe that it was just his dancing. But she was right; there was something about it that seemed to send the crowd wild. And if the host's reaction was anything to go by, then it seemed that Emily's reaction was definitely the norm. There was no way Gillian would find this attractive, would she?

Damn it. He needed to know, he needed to do more research. Deciding that this couldn't wait until morning, he rolled out of bed and went in search of his laptop. Typing 'Tom Hiddleston dancing' into youtube didn't really help him. The comments were just lots of people seemingly exaggerating because there is no way they'd be able to comment if they were actually "dead" or "dying". Deciding that humanity had indeed gone insane, he decided that he'd just watch him dance. After five minutes he decided that this bloke was nothing special, really, he was just a teen heartthrob who could throw some move around. And anyway, just by watching the videos he'd never be able to work out if Gill would like something like that. Screw it, he'd just ask her if she'd heard of this Hiddleston bloke tomorrow and see what he saw on her face.

If he saw the same thing on Gill's face that he saw on Em's (as much as it pained him to admit that he saw it there in the first place) when he mentioned it then maybe he'd have his way to impression Gillian. He wasn't a fool, he knew things were changing between them; he'd been actively, but gently, pressing for it. He knew what he wanted, and he knew Gill wanted it too, but he'd yet to work out how to make his move. This could be the way to shock a reaction out of her.

A stupid, childish plan forming in his mind, Cal finally dropped off into a restless, dance filled dream.

It had taken him all day, but Cal had finally found his courage to ask Gill. It was the end of the day and the office was winding down for the weekend when Cal dropped himself, unceremoniously, onto her sofa. She continued with the paperwork on her desk, her smile the only thing that gave away that she was aware of his presence. He shuffled himself down, his feet crossed at one end of the sofa, his head pillowed on his arms at the other end.

"So, Fosta, can I ask you summat?"

Gill placed her pen down, folded her hands over the paper and gave Cal her full attention and nodded.

"Um, last night, I found Em watchin' a video of some bloke called Tom Hiddleston dancin'. And I'd like your opinion on whether livin' with me has finally caused her to go loopy…"

Gill's eyebrows shot up almost into her hairline

"Cal," elongating the 'a' as if to give him time to explain himself

"Look, I'm havin' a hard time admittin' Em's growin' up… Nah, that's not it. I don't know why I'm even bringin' Em into this actually," Cal squirmed, "This dancin' thing, I don't get it. Some slick, skinny bastard shakes his hips and it has everyone fallin' to their knees! The world's gone barmy! And it's like I'm the only one that can see it… Please, Gill. Tell me, it's not just me…"

Gillian's laughter instantly lightened Cal's mood, "why didn't you just ask me if I was with you and your agenda against the world?"

Cal pouted, "it's not the same and you know it."

"Luckily, I've already seen it."

"And…? Don't leave me hangin', love."

"Well, he's too clean cut for my liking. I like my men a bit more… rough around the edges," the smile that crept across Gillian's face made him like he was imposing in on something secret, but for once, he kept quiet, sensing she had more to say, "but those hips…"

Cal had heard enough; the world _had_ gone barmy. And Gillian along with it. Unfortunately. He clears his throat "that's quite enough Fosta, someone need a cold shower? Unless you need me to help you out…?" His eyebrows waggled, and pulled himself slightly off the sofa, showing the availability of his body.

Her pen flew through the air, hitting him square on the chest, "shut up, Cal." Cal grinned up at her as she walked out.

"Go home, Cal."

"Have a good weekend, love!"

* * *

Well, Gillian didn't need him to be all clean cut and suited up, but the way her eyes had glazed over at the mention of that bloke's bloody hips had spark no small amount of jealousy within him. It was something that he really couldn't shake, and maybe this would be his breakthrough. Obviously, something about what those hips were doing did something to her, and _not_ the bloke that they belonged to. That had to be good, that meant maybe if he could dance like, maybe he could get that look directed at him… Really, how hard could that be? All he had to do was swing his hips a bit, right? Right?

Knowing he was probably going to regret this massively later, but thankful that Emily had gone to her mother's for the weekend, Cal put "Play That Funky Music" on repeat as loudly as possible through his kitchen sound system. At least if he was going to make a fool out of himself in his own kitchen, he was going to do it and make something productive – like dinner.

It took a few runs through, but slowly the rhythm picked up in Cal's bones. He started to shuffle his shoulders and scuff his feet along the floor, limited by what he could do while doing prep work, though he'd never admit it. Everything thrown into the pan and Cal was finally free to bust the moves properly.

In all honesty, the prep time had allowed himself to work up the mental courage to even attempt what he was about to. Feeling more and more sure of himself, he started to throw his feet around much more, knees high, albeit more than a bit wobbly due to his signature slouch. His hands started to fly around of their own accord, much like they normally did, but with seemingly less control than usual. Aware of this, and how ridiculous they looked Cal grabbed them and held them in front of him, locking his arms.

It was now or never, in the safety of his own kitchen where Cal started to swing his hips round in circles, slowly and awkwardly at first, completely out of time but just getting a feel for the movement. He began to get into the swing of it, and although his knees were a little buckled and his shoulders rounded forward, meaning that his torso was at an angle, showing off the outline of his lean body as his hips started to become more soothing and mesmerising. Cal started to feel good; he started to feel confident, like perhaps he could pull this off. He stopped circling his hips and started snapping them back and forth in time with the music, slowly moving himself around the kitchen, pulling a "I'm-so-god-damn-hardcore" pout, stopping to stir his dinner, bubbling away on the hob.

Feeling cocky, Cal tries to go for a spin, arms out, eyes closed, which given his natural swagger is overall a bad idea. He managed to catch his feet on something and went down, hard. His eyes flew open as he tried and cushion his landing, he's still spinning, and there, in the doorway is a figure. He crashed into the floor and the side of the work surface, groaning, he looked towards the doorway and sees no one there. Obviously, that was his dizzy brain playing tricks on him. He lay in silence for a few moments. Then it struck him. Silence.

He hadn't stopped the music. Someone else was in his house. That someone had obviously seen him dance, seen him fall and gone to turn the music off. Great. He was never living this down. He just hoped beyond hope that it was Emily.

Mustering all types of courage, Cal pulled himself up off the floor and came face to face with the last person on earth he wanted to see in that moment. Gillian Foster. Worst of all she was giggling. In fact, she was full on belly laughing, doubled over and laughing so hard no noise came out and tears streaked down her cheeks. He felt his cheeks flame. He, Cal Lightman, a grown ass man, had been walked in on when he was dancing and ended up on the floor. And he wasn't even drunk. And he was _blushing_. He felt betrayed by his own body.

Gillian grabbed for his shirt, pulling him closer, for support as she continued to laugh-cry into his shoulder. Bemused, he wrapped his arm around her and waited for her to calm down. Finally she was capable of breathing normally and could speak, despite the small chuckles that still peppered her attempts to breathe.

"Oh, Cal," she half laughed "that was beautiful. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it!"

"Yeah, well, that's not quite what I was goin' for. Nor was I expecting you to walk in on me, you know… Why are you here, Fosta? Come to seduce me in my own home?" with extra eyebrow wiggle.

Still grinning, Gill smacked his shoulder "I tried calling, but it went to voicemail, I wanted to know if you wanted to grab some food. I was worried so I came round, when I could see your car and you weren't answering the door, I used my key and let myself in. And then I found you… um… with Wild Cherry playing, and your hips! And well, the rest is history."

"Oh, yeah. Like somethin' you see, Fosta?" His body closing in to her

"If by like, you mean, something I can laugh at constantly, then yes."

"So… the hips, they did nothing for you then?"

Gillian tilted her head at this, because suddenly Cal looked really nervous about something, nervous and sad. She chose her next words carefully.

"I didn't say that, but you landing on your face, that was really very funny."

Cal's face fell, but he tried to laugh it off, but it didn't reach his eyes. Something that he knew wouldn't fool Foster, but he hope that she would be polite enough to ignore it. He turned and backed away from her, as if being close to her was painful now he'd blown his chance, and went to turn the hob off. He allowed his head to drop, and to re-centre himself. He turned back to face Gillian, only to find her gone.

_Great one there, Lightman. You've pushed her away. Again. It might not have been the sexy breakthrough you were looking forward, but you could've at least laughed about it with her. Well done, you bloody ponce._

Head in his hands, trying to fathom how this had gotten so far away from where he wanted it to be. His ears picked up when he heard the bass line slowly slink into the kitchen. He looked up to see Gillian glide through the door, completely in time with the music and his breath hitched. It was substantially quieter than when he'd played it earlier, quiet enough that when Gill reached out her hand he could he hear her invite. Words had never sounded so perfect.

"Hey, Cal, why don't we do this together?"

"Aye, aye, darlin'"

Maybe this evening wasn't such a mess, after all he managed to get Gillian dancing with him in his kitchen, joking about the best way to circle and snap his hips, whilst stumbling in that delightful way. By the end of the evening, she had _that_ look in her eyes. And this time, it was completely directed at him.

END


End file.
